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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23101891">A Great Friend</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/by_thunder/pseuds/by_thunder'>by_thunder</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Great Gatsby - F. Scott Fitzgerald</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>American English, Epilogue, Gay subtext? You bet!, Great Depression, I hope my teacher's proud of me, JK I hope she never finds out about this, M/M, Update: I got an A on this, Written for a Class, but here we are, graded fanfiction, words i never wanted to say</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-03-11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-03-11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-01 13:47:31</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Major Character Death</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,241</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23101891</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/by_thunder/pseuds/by_thunder</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>An epilogue to The Great Gatsby. </p><p>What did Nick do after moving back to the Midwest? How did Nick fare during the Great Depression? Will Nick find love?</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Nick Carraway/Jay Gatsby, Nick Carraway/Original Character(s)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>5</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>22</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>A Great Friend</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>In my younger and more vulnerable years, my father gave me some advice.<br/>
“Whenever you feel like criticizing any one,” he told me, “just remember that all the people in this world haven’t had the advantages that you’ve had.” I listened to him attentively, and for years I reserved all judgments on the people I met. Until, of course, that fateful summer on West Egg. The summer that Gatsby happened.</p><p>	As I’ve mentioned, my family is from the Midwest, where I returned after Gatsby’s death. But the truth is, as tired as I was of all the corruption and wealth, I missed New York in all its bustle and excitement. There was, at home, a comforting monotony to the expanses of yellow cornfields, but only to a point. After two years, I could no longer stand the hazy fever dream summers and blank, biting winters of Illinois. I gathered up a precious few belongings and the meager remnants of my paycheck and headed East to New York.</p><p>	My career as a bond salesman had ended abruptly when I left New York and I was in no position, financially, to buy a house, nor was I in any position, emotionally, to live on West Egg again. So, I bought a newspaper when I got off the train to look at the apartment listings. Instead, I found an ad that said “APARTMENT SHARE: Roommate wanted!” and had an address below. I figured it was worth a try and headed over. That was how I met Alfred.</p><p>	Alfred was a few years younger than I and was a lanky fellow with a handsome mustache and a matching shock of blond hair. He had been renting out the apartment for a few months when I arrived and said he would be more than happy to have me as a roommate. I managed to get my old job back. On weekdays, I’d get up, make coffee, and go to work, and on the weekends, I’d make breakfast for Alfred and me and we would go walking in central park. For two years, everything was rather idyllically domestic. I felt I could be quite happy living like that for the rest of my life, even though the apartment was small and the new traffic light blared green through my window at all hours. </p><p>	But the bliss came to a quick end in ‘29. Alfred and I, being rather middle-class, were adversely affected. We suddenly found ourselves unemployed and unable to pay rent. We still had our wits about us, though, so we made a plan. I would go find us a place to live before we were evicted and Alfred would find us jobs. I was somewhat successful in my task; I found a crummy building of apartments that was mildly better than living on the streets and was, moreover, cheap. Thoughts of Gatsby’s colossal affair of a house flooded my mind, but I banished them before I could lose my composure. It still happened sometimes, me doing unmanly things because of thoughts and feelings of Gatbsy.</p><p>Finding work proved to be much harder. I took any odd job I could find. For years we went on like that, Alfred and I, desperate for work. I found myself with a great appreciation for the lower classes, who I had become one of overnight. I felt I had a frightening understanding of Wilson’s money-desperate mind, but also that of a young James Gatz, in all his ambition.</p><p>Then came along the New Deal and a plentiful number of jobs with it. My very own green light from the old apartment seemed to come back into view. I wondered, for a bright, fleeting moment, whether Alfred believed in the green light. It was no matter, though. It seemed unfair to compare Gatsby and Alfred. They were past and present and I knew better than most, that you can’t repeat the past. Alfred and I were lucky to get jobs together on a PWA project they were calling the Lincoln Tunnel. </p><p>One day, I was just preparing for my break when the yellow sun broke out over a figure covered in ashen cement dust. To my great shock, the ash gave way to a pair of broad shoulders and a square jaw belonging to none other than Tom Buchanan.</p><p>“Tom!” I squawked.<br/>
His head turned mechanically at the sound of his name, but as his eyes fell upon me, he seemed skeptical.<br/>
“Nick? Nick Carraway! It’s been what,” he paused to count. “Seven years? Eight, maybe? Are you broke, too, along with me and every other joe in this apple?”<br/>
“As it would seem.”<br/>
I tried not to seem so stiff, but Gatsby’s voice, more hollow than it had been in life, seemed to float into my ears. I couldn’t get away from the memory of Tom saying Gatsby had deserved his fate.<br/>
“How are you fairing? Daisy and your daughter, are they…”<br/>
I didn’t dare finish with the alarming way that Tom flinched at Daisy’s name.<br/>
“Tom?”<br/>
“Sorry, it’s just- they’re gone, Nick.”<br/>
Something dropped in the depths of my stomach.<br/>
“Gone?” I asked, innocently.<br/>
“Daisy… She left me- we had an argument one night- she took Pammy with her in the car and they- they crashed.”<br/>
I was completely lost for words. It was an awful thing to happen, and how had I not heard about it until now? I was about to ask when Tom’s voice returned with renewed fervor and an eerie lack of sorrow.</p><p>“She loved me, you know, Nick. Before that goddamned Gatbsy showed up. He put all these infectious ideas in her head! She wouldn’t dream of leaving me if he hadn’t given her the damn idea. That Gatsby deserved what Wilson gave him and fifty times more. What’s with you, Nick?”<br/>
I had gone completely stone-faced and I could feel my jaw tense and set. With no further warning, I lunged at Tom, only managing to topple him due to the surprise of my attack. Once on the ground, my hand swung at his face three times, though it didn’t feel like I was doing the hitting. Tom only got in one hit before I was being pulled away by two firm hands on my shoulders. I just stared blankly, dazedly ahead at Tom Buchanan cradling his jaw in the immeasurable landscape of yellow, ashen dust.</p><p>Alfred led me home and, for once, neither of us was worried about being sacked. He made me a cup of coffee and then sat me down and tended to my then bleeding nose. I couldn’t help but think about how Gatsby, who I had so looked up to, would never have made me coffee and cleaned my wounds, even had I obtained them in a fight against his one love’s husband defending Gatsby’s own honor. Sure, Gatsby was thrilling to be around, gorgeous, and even had a heightened sensitivity, but he was not true or comforting or kind. Now that I had encountered these qualities in a friend, I felt I would forever be both spoiled and devoted, just as I had once felt about Gatsby. And maybe, I had found that my green light was closer than ever before. Perhaps, I had been longing for someone to care for me and listen to me without judgment, as my father’s words inspired me to do for others, and, perhaps, I had finally found that person.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Originally written for my English class. Let's hope I managed to write everything in proper American English...</p></blockquote></div></div>
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